


Growing Old (Together)

by stravaganza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beekeeping, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Happy Husbands, Husbands, M/M, Memories, Older Characters, Polyamory, Puppies, Retirement!lock, happiness, john struggling with futuristic technology, memoirs writing, mention of alcoholism (John's family), mentions of loss of relatives, tea time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three men, thinking back on their lives before each other and enjoying the present. Ready to savour the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Old (Together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vanetti (lereya)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lereya/gifts).



> For Lesley, in case her sister drives her up the wall or the vacation gets boring <3

Sherlock loved the brief period when spring turned into summertime. It was the time of the year when he could actually lay in the sun without getting as red and burnt as a lobster, when the heat was nice yet not strong enough to make him feel tired all the time, when he could actually see all his bees buzzing around as happily as children in a playground, jumping from flower to flower like in a buffet. And there were also some of the best flowers, in that period: the late spring ones, the early summer ones, and all those in between.

John spent many months caring about the garden, feeling like he was still a doctor, in a way. Healing the earth instead of people. As a result, they had many splendid flower beds making their garden colourful almost all year round, even when the dirt dried up in late autumn or when the frost would begin to nip even at their trees, turning all the flowers brown and leaving only their garden decorations intact.

That was actually one of the worse times of the year, really. At least for Sherlock. Unless something interesting happened in one of the nearby villages, that is. Many of the local police forces knew very well who he was, and they didn't really hesitate when it came to asking for help with one crime scene or the other. Not that much happened, really.

But it wasn't the time to think about that. Not when the garden was full of life. Not when the sky was blue and the air was filled with the buzzing of his beloved bees, frolicking in the early black-eyed Susans, in the horsemint plants and in the drooping pale purple coneflowers and the withering yarrow bushes growing along the short stone wall running all around their property.

Sherlock filled his eyes with the sight and smiled to himself, a bit lost in his world. He often did that, lately. His mind wasn't at its best all the time nowadays, only going to a hundred percent when it came to his bees or the occasional case.

He liked this side of retirement. When he was younger, he feared the day his mind would start losing its sharp edge, but now that he was old it didn't quite matter. As long as he wasn't reduced to a babbling fool by his age, he wouldn't mind not being as quick as he used to be. They had retired because his body had begun to slow down way sooner than his mind had, after all.

Despite everything, he found he was truly happy even now, out of London, living in a cottage in Sussex with his bees, and John, and-

An excited barking sound made him turn around, and just in time. The new addition to their family, a therapy dog they had decided to call Betty after the late Queen Elizabeth (because James and John were never if not Queen and Country men), was barely more than a German Shepard puppy now. She was already as tall as Sherlock's knees, but had all the enthusiasm of a seven months old dog.

"I take it I'm needed inside?" he asked her, and Betty tilted her head to the side, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she sat at Sherlock's feet. "Lead the way, then," he smiled.

Betty barked in excitement and sprinted towards the door while Sherlock took his gloves and hat off and left them on a bench nearby his hives, before following.

***

The more the world progressed, the less John seemed to understand modern technology. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind about the newest computer models, what with their clear glass monitors and their projected keyboards. He was tentatively running his fingers over the wooden surface of the table, muttering to himself as the words appeared on the screen as if by magic.

Oh, how he missed writing by hand. But, then again, he had kept a blog for years. This wasn't any more difficult to do than that with his developing arthritis and, if anything, fixing mistakes took less time and considerably less ink.

And still... how does someone write about the sixty-something years of their lives? How does someone go on and share with the curious world all his secrets, all the small things that had happened ever since he could remember them, all the moments he had loved?

John still wasn't sure why he had accepted to write a book of memoirs, but Sherlock had been enthusiastic at the idea. _It would be like the old times_ , he had said, _it will be good for you. And it will be an exercise for your memory, you should do that now that you're old_... Always the flatterer.

John suspected it was mostly because, even after years, Sherlock hadn't yet accepted the fact that he could never learn all there was to know about his husband. And, of course, Sherlock Holmes could never accept that. No matter that he knew almost everything about his military past now, it could never be enough.

And John didn't mind, not really. Not after knowing the detective for years. But it was hard to talk about his family, about the loss of his mother and what alcohol had subsequently done to his father and then sister. It was hard talking about the years spent in the closet, afraid of what would happen, of what the world would thing. Of the years of service spent having an illicit affair with his commanding officer. Talking about his discharge, the years without Sherlock, sharing the truth about Mary and his fallout with the detective after her death, the loss of a daughter that had never even existed...

John sighed and took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He shouldn't spend so much time in front of the computer, he knew that. He should take a break, make some tea... Just as he thought this, a cup and saucer were put on the table besides his laptop, a gentle kiss pressed into his hair as he rubbed his eyes, and his lips broke into a smile.

"You shouldn't work so much," a gentle voice reminded him, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Stop reading my mind, you..."

Well. There were many things John _didn't_ mind talking about. He was a very happy man, after all.

***

James Sholto had never thought that his life could be like this.

At a young age, he already knew there was no place for him in the world if not in the army. He had been stern and firm even as a boy, often teased about his character by family and peers alike, but that was just how he was. He had little friends, and all his interests were far from what boys his age would have considered interesting.

Especially since his interests also included boys his age.

But he was supposed to be in the military, like his older brother, and his father, and his grandfather, and all those before him. Even his grandmother had been a nurse during World War II, and his younger sister had dreamed of becoming an army pilot one day.

That changed the day his brother returned home as a folded flag.

His sister left home to study abroad, and he hadn't heard much from her aside the occasional email or Christmas phonecall. She seemed to be faring well, and that was enough for him. His mother had been broken, and she seemed to grow older and frailer every day. And his father... Well, he had been as stoic as always. To the world, it looked as if he didn't care. But when he retired from the army earlier than he could have, James knew he had been hit as hard as they all had.

Still, no one stopped James when he went and joined the army as well. He had no other options, after all. And so he went and signed up, and underwent training, and remained in the closet, and begun quietly doing his job the best he could, and apparently that was a whole lot of good because soon he was climbing ranks and being called "Sir" and "Major" and "CO" and he had whole units under his command.

When he thought back to it, James felt like his life had been one never changing grey line up until the point when he had met John Watson.

He had been colour. He had been life and energy and _fun_ , warmth and light. He had been everything, and suddenly going back to just being the good soldier wasn't enough for James. Never he would have expected for John to feel the same, but... Well. He had.

And even after years, after they were both invalidated home, even after James's life was back to being a cold, grey lump and he felt as lifeless as ever before, even after John got married and lost his wife and finally decided to spend the rest of his life with the man he truly loved... even then, John Watson had thought of him.

James had been speechless when he had found John Watson and Sherlock Holmes at his door one day, the first man beaming at him and the other staring with wide eyes, as if James had been about to sprout another head. And when they had spoken, and then talked, and then whispered... when all the words they had to say were out in the open and all three of them had agreed that each other's happiness was the most important thing to them... They had found themselves in a relationship.

And maybe it could have stayed like it had been at first, when Sherlock had suggested that they should both be with John, but the mere thought of it had been impossible from day one. Not when James and Sherlock already knew their hurts and aches fit together as perfectly as they did with John's, not when they genuinely liked each other and not when they both loved John so much that said love began slowly but steadily flowing around them, making them what they were today.

Husbands.

***

James smiled down at the ring on his left hand as he waited for the tea to brew, running his fingers gently over it as if to remind himself that it was all true, and that life did have happy endings, some times.

He smiled even more as he went to give John his tea, finding him rubbing his eyes tiredly after a hour spent writing.

"You shouldn't work so much," he had murmured against his silver hair, where he had kissed the top of his head lovingly, making the doctor chuckle.

"Stop reading my mind, you..." he had replied, looking up at him with a smile. His eyes were a bit unfocused without his glasses, but James didn't mind. He hated when they were both wearing spectacles and they ended up clinking together when they kissed.

So, he took advantage of it and leaned in to press a peck to John's lips, before straightening his back and walking to the kitchen to retrieve his and Sherlock's teacups, one at the time. John stood to help, going to the kitchen to take Sherlock's tea and a plate of the detective's homemade honey biscuits, taking all to the coffee table while James plucked the computer screen from its perch and put it on a nearby shelf, turning it off in the process.

"Ta. Should I go and call the bee king?" John asked, putting the plates down, but James sat on the couch and pulled him down with him.

"I sent Betty," he said, wrapping his arms around John and snuggling close to him, making the doctor chuckle.

"Of course you did," he teased, lacing their fingers together and leaning into the embrace.

That's how Sherlock found them. He entered the room and, mindful of all the time James spent cleaning, he toed his dirty shoes off, wearing his slippers before venturing out of the foyer and into the living room. And once there, he found John and James curled up on the couch, their foreheads touching.

He could have stood there watching them for years. Counting the changes in their faces that old age had put there. The wrinkles and crow's feet, the occasional dark spot on their skins, the glasses usually perched on their noses and now resting besides their teacups. James's already fair hair turned white and sparse, John's slightly darker hair only grey but quickly going white. Sherlock's own curls were still mostly black despite his fifty-nine years of age, but the dark grey starting at his temples was slowly but surely growing paler, and climbing on his head, but at least he only needed glasses to read. Sometimes.

Even after years, Sherlock felt a bit like an intruder in those intimate moments, but after years Sherlock had also learned that he was welcome to join them whenever he wanted to. Betty had learnt that in a considerably shorter time, since she ran past Sherlock and jumped on the couch, barking excitedly and wagging her tail happily.

She startled John, who laughed, while James simply rubbed her ears and pointed out that she wasn't allowed on the couch. With a small whine, she went and sat at their feet obediently, and Sherlock was amazed by how good James was when it came to training her despite his and John's best efforts to spoil the puppy. But he was right about some things - they were already three in bed, they wouldn't all fit after she had grown to her full size.

"How long have you been standing there, love?" John called, and Sherlock blinked a few times to focus on him again.

"Oh, sorry. I was spacing out again."

James and John both smiled at him, and the major patted the seat between them, moving a bit away from John. They had known how dangerous it used to be for Sherlock to lose himself in his mind, but his mind palace had long ago been replaced by a happier place.

It was now their old Baker Street flat, and their Sussex cottage, rather than a dark, looming mansion and the narrow hallways of his old colleges. It was filled with happy memories now, and getting lost there wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

Still, all three of them preferred it when Sherlock wasn't lost: when he was there with them, in the moment, making even more happy memories all together.

Sherlock smiled and went to sit between the two men, snuggling closer to the both of them while they wrapped their arms around him and kissed his cheeks at the same time, making him blush a bit and giggle like the first time they'd done that.

Soon they'd be sipping at their tea and eating their biscuits, talking about the groceries to get in town, and about the barbeque they had been invited at by their neighbours, and about Betty's next vet visit, but... for now, it was the three of them, cuddled up and relaxing on a lazy, late-spring afternoon.

"I'm going to enjoy reading your book, John," Sherlock said suddenly, a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes in relaxation. "And they lived happily ever after. It sounds like a good way to end it, doesn't it?"

John snorted, but hugged Sherlock tightly. "You ridiculous man... Dares call _me_ a romantic," he pointed out, making James chuckle.

"You both are ridiculous men, John," James noted, making John smirk and shrug.

"Fine, I guess I'm guilty of that."

Sherlock's smile widened. "We're all ridiculous. And I love you both."

He could hear the smiles in their voices even without seeing them when they replied almost at the same time, "Love you both, too."

Ah, yes. Growing old together. The best of happy endings.


End file.
